Chapter Twenty

Scroll down to MotAE or check out these free reads and new releases.

Note: If you need to find previous chapters, they are always available here: www.motae.mkrumsey.com

Also, I’ve attached files for readers who’d prefer to download to an Ereader or print. These are only for your own reading pleasure. Please share the journey via the referral program.

Previously in Murder on the Aerial Express:

Isabelle and Reimund talk to Mrs. Hampton who tells them about the plan to rob Beechcraft. After her daughter’s death, she joined forces with Julia, the Blacks, Paul Notti, and Alastair Dunlap to steal the contents of Beechcraft’s safe, including his blackmail materials. Julia would use this leverage to force him to step down from his position at the head of the company, threatening to expose his misdeeds. To help persuade him, she anonymously invited the journalist Ulysses Aitken aboard, a man who would be happy to publish anything to Beechcraft’s discredit. 

However, the plan went awry when someone killed Beechcraft the first night of the voyage and took the safe’s contents for themselves. 

Isabelle and Reimund leave, intending to speak to Julia Beechcraft next.

When Reimund asked about their destination, Isabelle slowed. The pause allowed her mind to catch up with her body. 

“Julia Beechcraft wouldn’t return to second-class accommodations after announcing her presence, for the sake of Captain Miro if nothing else. He’d insist that she move to better quarters.”

“But how do you know which cabin?”

“I’m familiar with almost every inch of the Aerial Express. There’s only one empty suite nice enough.” Julia would be in Isabelle’s usual cabin, the place she lived for several weeks each year. She fought off a wave of irrational jealousy. 

They passed a maid pushing a cart of linens down the corridor. Despite the ample space, she moved to the side and nodded deferentially.

“What do you hope to learn from Miss Beechcraft? Do you want to check if her story matches Mrs. Hampton’s?”

“The woman also has the clearest motive.” Isabelle patted her necklace, trying not to imagine Pippa’s reaction to the idea that her idol could commit cold-blooded murder. 

“You mean her inheritance?”

“The missing papers trouble me, too.” She trailed off, lost in thought until she spotted Reimund’s exasperated frown in a window, his face layered over slate clouds. “Julius Beechcraft traveled with all his most sensitive documents. I bet he counted his will among them.”

It took him a moment. “Are you suggesting he didn’t leave his kingdom to his only child?”

“They were estranged.”

They turned a corner, and she pointed to the room. Reimund struck his knuckles against the wood in a resounding knock.

Isabelle second-guessed herself while they waited, but their quarry was in.

Julia Beechcraft cracked the door. At the sight of Isabelle, she slanted her eyebrows, barbed amusement shading her voice as she said, “My lady, what an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.” 

Reimund introduced himself before following them inside. There was much to be said for a person who could see to his own social niceties. 

The apartment was as she’d left it. Larger than her current suite (though it lacked a connecting chamber), the cabin had a comfortable seating area, a workspace, and a bar cabinet. When she stayed in the room, the crew kept the alcohol shut away and the cupboard bolted, but Pippa and Tess had convinced her to pick the lock last summer. The girls passed around the whiskey — a vile, smoky thing — until the other two caught the giggles. The first flush of warmth had alarmed Isabelle, so she sealed her tongue over the top of the bottle, never drinking more than a few drops.

Hugo and Marie Black perched in the parlor chairs. He scowled, and she eyed the newcomers. 

Julia made everyone known to everyone else. Reimund gaped, his charm faltering under the pressure of meeting the famed performers. Isabelle reacted differently. Her eyes darted back toward Hugo Black again and again, swallowing against the phantom taste of ether.  

Julia settled into an armchair and gestured to the sofa. She leaned back, one hand toying with a snifter of brandy.

Isabelle sat and stroked the buttery leather while she debated where to start. Before she could decide, Reimund spoke. “Miss Beechcraft, I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you.” 

Another pause. At last, Isabelle gave up the attempt to find an easy transition and barreled onward. It was more her style.

“We talked to Mrs. Hampton. She told us about your plan to blackmail your father.”

The words made Julia wince, which made Hugo glare. Marie pet him, smoothing his sleeve. She said, “Margaret must believe there’s no longer any point in secrecy. Better to walk in front of the story than chase after rumors.”

Julia wet her lips. “I wanted him to retire, not die.”

(She wondered if her intentions mattered anymore. Had she set the tragedy in motion? Guilt chewed at her intestines, and she wanted to wrap her arms over her stomach, but she settled for a sip of brandy.)

“You must admit that both his retirement and his death benefit you more than anyone. You now assume control of the Beechcraft empire.”

“I loved my father.” Anger clipped Julia’s consonants and curled the tips of her fingers, clicking the nails against the glass.

Hugo said, “Beechcraft was a snake. Consider yourself lucky you never got bitten. Still, Miss Julia wouldn’t harm her own family.”

“And out of respect, neither would we,” Marie said. “She saved us after my accident, supporting our troupe and sending Dr. Chakraborty to supervise my recovery. Without her help, I would not have walked again.”

Their benefactor twisted in discomfort. “It was the right thing to do.”

Marie smiled, bittersweet and intense. “And that makes your actions less rare?”

Hugo leaned forward, the wood creaking. “Why do you permit these insults?”

Julia shrugged. “I’d rather give Lady Isabelle answers than have her search for them. Besides, she won’t be the only person to ask these questions.” To Isabelle, she said, “Let’s look at the situation rationally. If I — or we — intended to murder my father, why develop such a convoluted plan? He’d have welcomed me home. I wouldn’t need to scheme my way into an opportunity for patricide.”

“Is that true? Would he rejoice at your return?”

Julia nodded.

“So you were still his heir?”

Julia tilted her head, her eyes flying wide with realization. “You think I killed him to prevent him from naming someone else.”

“Maybe you assumed he’d already done so. That’d give you a reason to search his safe.”

Hugo Black rose to his feet and took half a step toward Isabelle, who shrank from his approach. Julia’s peal of amusement made him freeze. 

“My lady, have you ever considered writing melodramas for the stage?” She wiped at her eyes, the tears readied by grief but released by laughter. “It’s a dramatic story you’ve told yourself, but anyone who knew my father would recognize it for fiction.”

“Why is that?” Reimund asked.

A dismissive tch. “He’d never change his will. First, my father approached his affairs from a dynastic point of view. Several people expected him to back out of my adoption once I proved to be a baby girl. But no. He may have wanted Julius Beechcraft II, but he settled for Julia Beechcraft I. I am his only chance at legacy, and he’d never relinquish that, no matter his mood.”

Isabelle frowned. “And second?”

“He always trusted that I’d realize the error of my ‘childish rebellion’ and come home.”

Marie tugged at Hugo, who was still on his feet, and he dropped back into his chair, which moaned in distress.

Julia cleared her throat. “In any event, my lady, you have better suspects. Either Paul killed my father, the shame of it driving him to suicide, or your chaperone did. The captain has briefed me on the lady’s past. I’m not sure how long she’s been with your family...?”

“I met her before we departed,” Isabelle admitted.

Julia arched her eyebrows, making a show of it. “Ah.”

Carefully diffident, Reimund said, “There’s also the mystery of your father’s papers. They still haven’t turned up?”

Julia shook her head. “And many people knew of the safe’s existence. Alastair — Mr. Dunlap — is ready to tear his hair with frustration. He counted on the safe’s contents to clear him of responsibility for Rosefield.”  

“How is that?” Isabelle asked.

“Beechcraft employees don’t test any design without the express approval of two people — Alastair and my father. They sign off on the schematics, and Alastair swears he never did.”

“Would your father keep that with him?” Isabelle asked.

“He held all final designs and approvals with his most important papers.”

“And you accepted Mr. Dunlap’s claim?”

Julia chewed her lower lip. “Maybe I should have trusted Alastair from the beginning, but he was having problems. He and his wife lost their son — their only child — to tuberculosis earlier that year. He was... distracted.”

“That’s one name for it,” Hugo muttered.

Isabelle cut her eyes at the man. “I’d like to speak to him again.” 

Julia set down the drink and flicked her wrist. “I suppose there’s no harm in that.”

“Perhaps he has some idea of where the papers went.”

“Unlikely, but you’re welcome to ask. I’ll send a note to Alastair requesting him to give you a moment of his time.” She rose and showed them to the door, where she paused. “Be considerate. He and Paul were friends once.”

As they left, a fresh idea took shape, but Isabelle struggled to find its edges. It had the mushiness of intuition rather than the firm contours of logic.  

Reimund broke the silence. “To the engine room?”

“No…” 

“No?”

“No,” she decided, then reversed herself. “Well, yes. I want you to go to the engine room.”

She felt at her chest as they entered the hallway for their cabins. Why hadn’t she kept the picks with her? Plucking her room key from the assemblage, she approached her door and bent over the lock. She meant to leave Reimund in the hall while she fetched her tools, but he shouldered his way inside.  

He closed the door and swept her around so her back was against the exit. She looked up and thought, oh, as his arms came up to bracket her.  

“Explain. What idiocy do you intend while I speak to Mr. Dunlap?” He held her gaze, his blue eyes steely in the gloom. “Well? What’s your plan?”

“I need you to distract Mr. Dunlap, so I can search his room.”

He stepped back and huffed in disbelief. “You must be joking.” 

Isabelle went to her jewelry box. “If I could get away with it, I’d rifle the rooms of everyone involved.” 

Reimund shoved his hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

She examined her necklace and sacrificed the smaller knife, unhooking it from the chatelaine and placing it against the velvet. The scuffed tin of lock picks fit in its place. “Are you going to help me, or do I risk the engineer returning mid-search?”

Reimund groaned. “I’ll help. But you should speak to Dunlap, and I should search the room. If I can’t accompany you, you should stay in public places.”

“Do you know where the head engineer’s cabin is?” She didn’t let him answer. “Or how to pick locks?” 

His mouth twisted as he argued with himself. “Fine.” He stepped toward her, bringing him within inches. He raised one hand and traced the side of her face. “But you owe me.”

Between her anxiety and his nearness, Isabelle might combust. She tried not to squeak. “I always pay my debts. I might even enjoy…settling up.”

It surprised him. The swagger fell away, leaving him vulnerable. 

For once, she felt like she’d gotten the better of the exchange. 

That’s it for this chapter! See you next week.

If you’re enjoying the story, share it with your friends to earn nifty rewards.